[This post is from Hecate’s point of view.]
There were a few people clustered by the fire—Marin was there with baby Lin, Neve, Phelan, a smiling and laughing heavier-set woman with dark hair and a baby in a sling across her chest, and a dark-haired man with a flame buried in his eyes bouncing another infant. The unfamiliar woman with the baby paused, falling silent and staring at her as she approached the fire.
Hecate swallowed hard. The woman reached over and nudged Marin.
“Mar.”
Marin looked up and smiled, coming to her feet quickly and crossing the last dozen paces between the cluster by the fire and Hecate. She gave Hecate a one-armed hug, her son cradled in her other arm. “You’re up! Are you feeling better?”
“Better is a relative term,” Hecate said quietly, still managing to smile. “I heard the thunder and couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“Oh. Yeah, it looks like there’s a storm rolling in off the lake.” Marin wrapped her arm around Hecate’s shoulders and started to gently guide her toward the fire. “Come on, sit down. We have some hot water on. Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?”
“Coffee would be great,” she admitted, trying to calm her hammering heart. Coffee is probably the last thing I need to settle down, but I’d rather have that than my other options. “It’s been a while.”
Since the morning we left. Since we came here to help them. I don’t even know that I got to have a sip before we made the decision to leave.
Marin brought her to a seat by the fire. J.T. trailed quietly behind, a sentinel, a guardian. Hecate stared at her knees as she slowly sat down, trying to ignore the pain from her wound and the intensity of the gazes being shot in her direction from Neve and the man with the fire in his eyes. Phelan wasn’t staring, though, and she wasn’t sure what to make of that.
I spent so long trying to get my hands on him for reasons even I didn’t fully understand. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that he can’t stand to look at me. I put him through all kinds of hell, him and his cousin. That wasn’t fair of me.
“Are you really going to stay?”
She glanced up toward Neve’s voice, her stomach twisting at the gentleness of her voice. There had been no accusation in the question, only curiosity, and Hecate was shocked to see that there wasn’t hate in the other woman’s gaze—even though Neve had as much reason to hate her as Phelan did, if not more.
I went after her brother. I went after her lover. I went after her cousin. Almost every man she’s loved in her life, I turned into a target. It doesn’t matter that I barely knew what I was doing. I still did it.
Hecate took an uneven breath. “I’d like to,” she said quietly, struggling to meet Neve’s gaze and finding that it hurt too much, that the guilt of past crimes was too much. She looked away, stared into the fire. “Matt belongs here. I—I hope that someday, I’ll belong here, too.”
Marin came over and pressed a mug into her hands. Hecate gave her a small, weak smile and Marin smiled back, settling down next to her. Hecate raised the mug slightly, inhaling the scent of hot, strong coffee.
Somehow, it soothed the ragged edges—maybe because somewhere along the line, she’d started to associate the scent with Matt, with quiet mornings after quiet nights when she’d finally started to feel safe again.
Neve sighed softly and shook her head. “It’s not going to be easy,” she said quietly. “Not everyone’s going to really understand. I’m still trying to really understand.”
“I’m sorry for what I did,” Hecate said, looking up from her mug. “For all of it. I—I know that maybe it wasn’t all me, but enough of it was me that I should take responsibility for it.”
“You had no control over how much they twisted you up, or the shit hand you got dealt.” Phelan looked up from his hands and startled, Hecate met his gaze. Pain flickered through his eyes and she sucked in a sharp little breath. “I don’t blame you for any of it, Hecate. How can I?”
“Because I did it. Because—because it was this body, even if—even if—”
Marin laid a hand on her arm and Hecate went quiet, swallowing hard. She glanced sidelong and Marin’s fingers tightened slightly. Tears started to gather in her eyes and Hecate bit her lip.
Then Phelan was there, crouching in front of her. She had to force herself to meet his eyes and found that there was no anger there, only sympathy. “Ériu told me,” he whispered. “Cíar could never love a bad person and I know he loved you. I should be the one begging your forgiveness because you two never should have spent the balance of his life apart.”
Her throat was too tight. Words wouldn’t come.
I don’t deserve his apologies. What happened then wasn’t his fault.
But it wasn’t mine, either.
Hecate slowly set down her coffee mug. Phelan shook his head slightly.
“As for me, I probably deserved half of what you threw at me anyway—maybe not for anything I did to you, but you know. Karma.”
She started at him for a long moment. One corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a rueful smile. Hecate covered her mouth with one hand, shaking her head.
Karma, he says.
She leaned forward to hug him and he let her. As her arms closed around him, she began to laugh, shaking her head again.
“Karma’s a bitch,” she managed to say, hanging on tightly as Phelan squeezed her.
“She certainly is,” he agreed, giving her one last squeeze before drawing back. “Even though you never needed it, you have my forgiveness—for all of it. Do I have yours?”
Her cheeks were wet. She reached up to wipe away the tears, mopping at them with her fingers and the heels of her hands. “Of course. Always.”
Phelan nodded. He squeezed her hands, then stood up and made his way back over to his spot next to the fire.
Marin’s arm slid around her shoulders and Hecate looked toward her.
The two women shared a smile and Hecate reached for her coffee cup.
Maybe this won’t be as hard as I thought.
